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“Well, it did.” His father faced him squarely. “And yet you continue on the same path. You sleep with married women. Perhaps ruin more marriages. I have forgiven you, son, but I can never forget what you have done. Or agree on the path you’ve continued to choose.”

“Please.” Grant lifted both hands. “I am going to change. I am to partly sponsor in a ship that will, upon its return, make me wealthy. I will not have to rely on anyone but myself.”

His father’s expression was sad. “Do you really think it means you are to be a changed man? Do you not realize that you will forever be indebted to whomever gave you the money for this endeavor?”

To that question, Grant had no reply. Instead, he remained still and unable to move, his gaze fixed on his father’s retreating form. Needing to throw something, hit something, he decided instead it was best to leave. This was not the right time for a visit.

Unfortunately, this was when his mother appeared at the door. Her expression was so bright and happy, it broke his heart. “Grant, darling. You look so very handsome today.”

“And you are a vision,” he replied, leaning over to kiss her cheeks when she approached. Immediately, she turned to the maples. “Did your father tell you about them?”

“He did.”

She took his hand and pulled him to a small table with chairs. “Have tea while I tell you about my day.” Then she turned to gesture at the maid in the doorway.

As she requested tea be prepared and brought out to them, he closed his eyes and took deep breaths, doing his best to calm his thundering heartbeat. But when he heard her sit in the chair beside him, he opened his eyes to give her a wide smile. “Tell me everything,” Grant said.

She began talking about what she’d been doing, and then about the maples. He nodded and continued to smile, but he wasn’t really listening. He was still thinking about his interaction with his father. He drank a cup of tea and took a couple of bites of food; only then did he feel he could leave without upsetting his mother’s day.

And then what? How would he spend the rest of his day? He thought of Wren, and wondered how she was currently occupied. Maybe gardening in her little yard plot. He wished he could return to her home and find out, even though he was fairly sure her aunt would disapprove. Was she already seeking new employment in the village?

All of a sudden, he realized he might have an answer to Wren’s problem that would be perfect. “Mother, do you need any help here in the garden? A friend of mine is a wonderful gardener, and she requires work. She was working for Lady Roberts but was recently discharged.”

Her mother’s face hardened. “That woman is wicked. Rarely keeps anyone in employment for long. Tell your friend to come by. It is perfect timing. With Anna gone,” she said, referring to his sister’s maid, “We are short of help. Cook will welcome a set of helping hands.”

Glad that at least something good had come from the visit, Grant walked out of his parents’ home and onto the sunny street. A groom brought out his horse.

His father’s words weighed heavily upon him so that he couldn’t bring himself to mount. Instead, he led his horse away. He could use a walk, fresh air, and time to think. There had to be a way to make things right between him and his father.

Upon arriving at home, he walked in and went up the stairs to his suite of rooms. Once there, he paced, trying to figure out why he could not calm down. Then he realized: in every direction he saw clothing, decorative items, trinkets, and in every single item he’d brought into his rooms, he saw the face of a different woman. Everything had been purchased by someone for him. He’d earned nothing himself.

Then again, he had in a way done something with the women in order for them to be so generous. After all, he had money in the bank; although his account was not huge, it was enough to live on for a couple years. It had been lucrative. It just wasn’t something in which he could feel pride, or a sense of satisfaction.

Grant went to the window and threw it open, then leaned out to take some deep breaths. The fresh green air helped him settle, but the view of the city in the distance was a stark reminder of his life, and how dependent he was on others.

He’d spoken the truth when telling his father there was nothing he wished more than to return to that fateful day and change everything…

*

The ball hadbeen overcrowded and hot. Despite the discomfort, he and Henry had decided it was a perfect place to pick out women to seduce. Both of them needed money. Henry had been disinherited by his father and he, well, he was game for the sport of seduction anytime.

When he’d gone out to the balcony, a woman named Eleanor Dupree approached. She was attractive enough, although much older. She smiled prettily, fanned her flushed face, and through what seemed like benign and flirty chat, she’d invited him to her home the following night with promises of “a special gift”.

Expecting nothing much from Eleanor, once the conversation ended, he’d returned to the ball and had enjoyed a delightful interlude with the young widow who often entertained in her home; they’d become lovers of sorts. It was a satisfactory situation. Neither of them wished to be tied to the other, but they shared enough of an attraction for a once-in-a-while liaison.

As he’d promised, he’d gone to meet with Eleanor the next day. The Dupree home was more of a mansion, stately and dripping with the feel of old money. He’d been whisked inside and hurried upstairs by a maid, who obviously kept her mistress’s secrets. There, he’d entered the older woman’s overly-decorated bedchamber.

For a moment, he’d felt a flush of distaste. He didn’t belong there. She was a friend of his parents, and she was married besides.

He should have heeded that instinct to turn and leave. Instead, greed had propelled him forward and into the woman’s bed. The sex had been rushed, Eleanor seeming desperate for his touch. When a man’s voice sounded, it had taken Grant several moments for it to register. Someone had entered the room.

A butler perhaps, or a footman?

Eleanor’s face paled, and her expression of satiated satisfaction switched to one of sheer terror; he instantly knew it was the voice of neither a butler nor a footman.

“R-Roosevelt,” her voice had trembled. “I—I…” She pushed Grant away. He didn’t need encouragement and rolled off the mattress to quickly begin reaching for his clothes and pulling them on.

Roosevelt Dupree was one of the most influential men in Glasgow. With millions to his name and a great conglomerate of enterprises, there was little he did not benefit from. His steely gaze was focused on his wife, and he’d barely turned his attention to Grant as he’d addressed him. “Get out.” He’d gritted the words in a low and menacing tone. “Now.”